


Red Ink

by DianaCloudburst (Cloudburst_Ink)



Series: The Little Black Book [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Bottom Alec Lightwood, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Closeted Alec Lightwood, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gay, Gay Panic, Gay Sex, High Warlock of Brooklyn Magnus Bane, Light Angst, M/M, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood's First Time, Malec, Oral Sex, POV Alec, POV Alec Lightwood, POV Magnus, POV Magnus Bane, Sexual Tension, Shadowhunter Alec Lightwood, Smut, Top Magnus Bane, Top!Magnus, Warlock Magnus Bane, bottom!alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudburst_Ink/pseuds/DianaCloudburst
Summary: When Alec approaches Magnus Bane for help with his sister’s trial, he’s prepared to offer anything. No price is too great for Izzy’s life. Then Magnus names his price, and it’s the one thing Alec is most terrified to offer—himself. But the only thing he’sreallyafraid of is admitting just how much he wants to.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Series: The Little Black Book [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586785
Comments: 74
Kudos: 664





	Red Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> I may still be on a brief break from [The Immortal Weapons](https://cloudburst.ink/the-immortal-weapons/), but that doesn't mean I can't sneak in a few one shots!
> 
> I noticed that present tense narration seems to be growing more popular in the fanfiction community, and decided to give it a try myself. This one shot was borne of me wanting to practice writing in the present tense, using a situation that is stressful and exciting for the characters in order to give the narration a greater sense of immediacy. Let me know how I did—feedback is always welcome!
> 
> I also feel like I should note, before anyone gets confused, that though this does take place during/after 1x11 in the TV show universe, my characterization of Alec & Magnus, including their physical descriptions, is leaning a bit more towards the book versions.
> 
> [If you would like to read this story on my website with pretty formatting, an optional dark mode, and the music that inspired my writing, check it out at Cloudburst.Ink!](https://cloudburst.ink/red-ink/)

Alec would rather be anywhere in the world than where he is at this moment.

The imposing black doors of Magnus Bane’s loft loom above him. The warlock takes his time answering, and Alec wonders if it is a deliberate strategy meant to unsettle him—a mental game designed to draw out the dizzying anxiety that already constricts his throat. It seems like something Magnus would do—and it’s working. He raises his hand to strike the door again, refusing to let the warlock prolong his suspenseful torture. This pointless errand already has him in a mood, and having to see Magnus only makes the whole thing worse. But for Izzy, Alec will do anything.

The door swings open. Magnus leans against the frame with one arm, his pose fiendishly casual, wearing a silky teal shirt that shimmers under the light from the hallway. The embellished collar dives deep below his neckline without revealing too much, and Alec wills his eyes to stay level—there’s no reason for him to examine the warlock’s clothing, or how it hugs his body. None. He’s not even thinking about it. He schools his expression, keeping a carefully cool countenance. Magnus Bane is just a warlock they worked with once, trying to retrieve Clary’s memories, and Izzy took a liking to him. That’s all. Izzy loves befriending downworlders— _befriend_ being a loose term—and it only makes sense that she would send Alec to one of her most powerful friends in her time of need.

Alec doesn’t even _like_ most of Izzy’s friends. He repeatedly reminds himself of this important fact, blaming overwhelming distaste for the erratic racing of his pulse.

Bane’s expression tells a different story. His eyes narrow when they glare at his unexpected guest, appraising Alec as if the sharpness of his eyes could slice right through his protective barrier of cautiously constructed chilliness. Magnus is taller than Alec by an inch or so, drawing their eyes almost perfectly level when he slouches against the doorway. Inside, the loft is dark, lit only by the waning amber light filtering through the windows and a few dim, aurous lamps.

“Come in,” he says shortly, then spins on his heel and strides back into the shadows, sighing dramatically. “Tired of bickering over the guest list for your wedding?”

Alec follows him inside, almost jogging to keep pace with Magnus’ swift retreat. “I need to ask you something,” he says. His voice resounds strong and steady, much steadier than he feels. He clings to the sureness of it, leaning on his fabricated confidence as if he could pretend it into existence. Magnus doesn’t even spare him a glance as he stops before his ornate, well-stocked drink cart and dances his fingers over the various bottles and glasses there.

“Will it take long?” he asks impatiently. “I have a life to live, and there’s not much for us to talk about.” He selects a martini glass and pours out some gin, his back to Alec. His attitude conspicuously contrasts from his ostentatious flirting on all of their previous encounters.

Alec’s heart hitches. He hates that he wants to apologize. He glares out the window, where tall shadows have faded away into murky twilight, then redirects his glare at Magnus, voice rough and guarded. “It’s not about me,” he insists. “Or… any of _that_.”

In all honesty, Alec isn’t completely sure what ‘ _that’_ is, aside from a few brief exchanges of witty banter. It was all new to Alec—no man had ever hit on him before. Then Magnus asked him out for drinks, and Alec said yes, his stomach aflutter, but they never got around to it. Unless he counts the time he fell asleep here, at the loft, when Magnus made drinks after saving Luke’s life. 

But Alec doesn’t count that. It was an accident. And nothing happened.

Now Alec is engaged to Lydia, and Magnus is seething, and Alec resents it. It’s not like he had a choice. It was either her, or some random girl from Idris that his parents chose for him. And at least Alec is friends with Lydia. Magnus doesn’t understand how these things work. There is no saying ‘no’ to this.

But he shouldn’t have to explain himself—Magnus barely knows him. What right does he have to be angry about it, anyway?

“This is about my sister,” Alec clarifies stiffly, trying to maintain the course of the conversation.

“Ohhh,” Magnus fleers. “I see. Are you referring to the fact that your _adorable_ fiancée has Isabelle on trial for treason?” He completes his drink and seats himself in an armchair beside the barcart that coordinates frighteningly well with his outfit. He emanates power and cool confidence, a king taking his throne, stirring his drink with his pinky finger. “What can I do for you, _Alec_?”

Alec has to resist the urge to flinch when Magnus uses his name, and he isn’t sure why. The bitterness dripping from the warlock’s voice sparks a sharp, unexpected blaze of anger in his chest.

 _He doesn’t know anything about me,_ he silently bristles. Alec clenches his jaw, but for Izzy’s sake he preserves his collected pretense, shoving down the confusing barrage of emotions that swirl in his chest. “My sister wants you to be her defense attorney. I said I would ask.” His voice is clipped and tense, and he doesn’t care. “But I’m sorry to bother you,” he adds, letting some of Magnus’ acerbic tone leak into his own words. “I know a _downworlder_ can’t defend a Shadowhunter in court.” He turns to leave, frustrated—partially with himself for giving in and playing Magnus’ hostile game, and partially with the entire world for putting him in this awful situation. He should never have come. Almost before he is even done speaking, Magnus pipes up behind him.

“But a Shadowhunter accused of a crime can choose any advocate.”

Alec pauses, turning back to face the warlock. Magnus’ posture is straighter now, thoughtful. His earlier resentful expression has mostly faded, his mind already machinating some mad solution. Alec shakes his head slowly. Genuine surprise colors his tone, hopeful but hesitant, and most of all disbelieving. “That _can’t_ mean a downworlder,” he argues.

Magnus laughs, some of his earlier bitterness returning. “The Clave was so rigid and prejudiced back in what they called the ‘Time of Angels’ that they didn’t dream of a Shadowhunter asking a downworlder for help. Didn’t even bother to exclude us.” He speaks as if it is the equivalent of a Shadowhunter asking an ant for help, or a worm. With a flash of guilt, Alec realizes that back then, that was probably exactly how they would have viewed it. Magnus stands up, his drink swirling as he continues. “So since, as you all say, ‘ _the law is the law_ ,’ there is nothing stopping me from slipping through this gaping loophole,” he smirks. “For the right price.”

Alec fights back a grin at how Magnus mocks the old saying, using an absurdly raspy voice. If Jace had made that joke, he would have laughed. But this isn’t Jace—it’s Magnus, and Alec isn’t here to be friends. He can’t be. He won’t. He smothers the grin, but only barely. There is no way Magnus doesn’t notice. The warlock buries a satisfied grin in a sip of his drink. Weren’t they just angry with each other? Aren’t they _still_ angry at each other? Alec doesn’t remember why. He is disoriented, dizzy from the highs and lows of the fleeting exchange.

 _A price,_ he reminds himself. _Of course, he wants payment._ He recalls back to the night Magnus saved Luke, and wonders why Magnus never asked for payment back then. _Maybe he collected it from Luke,_ he tells himself. Somehow, he knows that isn’t the case. Maybe it was different when it was downworlders helping each other. He wrestles with memories of Magnus—exhausted, nestled in Alec’s arms after saving the werewolf’s life. His breath catches.

It doesn’t matter. No price is too great for his sister’s life. He would give anything— do anything. “Name it,” he says, gathering his resolve. If payment is all that Magnus Bane requires, he will spare no expense.

Their cursory truce vanishes when Magnus simpers down at him, and Alec gets the distinct feeling he has been caught in some sort of trap. The pause stretches out torturously, Magnus’ eyes drifting over his body.

“You,” the warlock purrs.

Alec freezes. His heart hammers in his chest. _What does that even mean?_

“In fact,” Magnus adds with a smirk, “I’ll do you _pro bono._ ”

 _Oh._ The implication settles heavily in Alec’s stomach, along with a flash of internal panic. _He thinks I’m into him! He’s seen me looking at him and now he’s trying to get me to admit it._ Alec masks his discomfort by rolling his eyes.

“Anything _else_?” he scowls.

Alec imagines trying to explain to his parents, or to anyone at the Institute, that he sold himself for his sister’s freedom. Would Lydia care? Then he imagines trying to keep it a secret, sneaking off to Magnus’ apartment to consummate such a deal. The whole idea makes him feel a bit dirty. His pulse races, and he immediately dismisses the thought .

The ghost of some unknown expression flashes across Magnus’ features, lasting only a fraction of a second. Alec can’t quite place it. He’s never seen Magnus make that face before. The warlock replaces it quickly with an elaborate imitation of pensiveness.

“Hmm,” he sighs. “One evening, Alexander. That’s all I ask. A couple hours to get to know me a little better.” He pauses, as if to consider his options carefully. “What _else_ is important to you? What _else_ tells me that your sister means enough for you to make a _real_ sacrifice?” There’s an air of tartness to his voice, and Alec isn’t sure what he did or said to deserve it. “I’d say your bow and quiver,” Magnus muses, and Alec’s chest tightens again, “but the Institute would replace that, wouldn’t they?”

Alec swallows nervously. “My bow is one of a kind,” he mumbles. “Izzy commissioned it for me after Jace and I became _parabatai_ .” He hates the idea of giving it up—it means the world to him, and he would never have another exactly like it. But for Izzy, he will make any sacrifice. He would much rather have _her_ around than the bow she gave him.

“Still,” Magnus shrugs away the option. “As much as I’m sure you treasure that heartfelt gift, that would be making things a bit too easy on you, don’t you think? One measly, mostly-replaceable object for your sister’s entire future?” He trails off again, as if to think harder, spinning away from Alec and sauntering back toward his chair. His throne.

Alec bites his tongue, refraining from reminding Magnus that his _measly_ bow, like all Shadowhunter weapons, was painstakingly hand-crafted by the Iron Sisters in a craft so all-consuming that the nephilim’s most powerful and skilled female warriors dedicate their entire lives to perfecting it.

Bane is toying with him. Alec’s mind circles back to Magnus’ initial offer, his pulse quickening and his blood heating.

“Fine,” Alec barks out, before he can stop himself.

Now it is Magnus who freezes, swinging slowly back around. “I’m sorry?” he asks, blinking.

“I said _fine_ ,” Alec repeats. He shifts his weight, directing his eyes anywhere but at the warlock. “I’ll do… whatever,” he sputters. “Just please. _Please._ Do this for my sister.” His eyes are on the floor now. He wonders how many people Magnus has made this sort of deal with before, and secretly, selfishly, hopes he is the first. He doubts it. Magnus Bane has been alive for hundreds of years, and Alec is probably just one of many casual, fleeting flings—even strangely negotiated ones. Not that it matters. Alec doesn’t like him that way. He’s just trying to save his sister.

He can hear his pulse humming in his ears. What did he just agree to? How did he give in so quickly? He curses himself for it. This is why his parents need him to restore the Lightwood name—because up until this point, he has been nothing but a disappointment.

Magnus takes a hesitant step toward him, and Alec recoils, just barely, his hands balled into fists. Traitorous heat flushes his cheeks, his stomach somersaulting as he ventures a glance upward. His eyes can’t help but linger over the fabric that hugs the curve of Magnus’ thighs, the chiseled cut of his waist. His throat is dry. He tries to swallow, but the gravely sensation is unpleasant. Then he lifts his stare hastily up toward the industrial exposed ceiling—anywhere but at the warlock himself. The twisting of his stomach is warm and hot, and he hates it.

Magnus’ voice cuts softly through his turmoil. “It’s settled then,” he murmurs. “Tell Isabelle she has her representation.”

“So… what?” Alec asks quickly, scrambling in vain to hide his uneasiness. “I mean—how do we do this?” To his surprise, Magnus turns away and waves a dismissive hand.

“I’ll collect your debt when I see fit, how I see fit.”

“When… when you see _fit_ ?” Alec gulps. Magnus is barely even paying attention to him, instead leaning over his desk and writing something in a small black book. Alec strides across the room and reads over the warlock’s shoulder only to find his own name written atop the page in bright red ink. Underneath, in the same saturated scarlet, is his debt: _one evening_.

“Phone,” Magnus orders as he holds out his hand—he’s strictly business. To even his own surprise, Alec obeys immediately and without hesitation. When Magnus is done exchanging their numbers, he smiles at Alec in a manner that is far too sweet for someone who just made a deal like this one. “I’ll text you.”

“O—Okay,” is all Alec can manage.

~

Alec glares at his own reflection. He is sharply dressed in a well-appointed navy blue button up shirt, a black jacket, and black dress pants. He adjusts a sleeve and examines his hair, which he actually managed to tame for once.

He’s still salty from his very unexpected text conversation with Magnus Bane earlier in the day. Of course Magnus—ever one for dramatics—chose the night before Alec’s wedding to collect his debt. It was completely inconsiderate of him. It’s not as if a man might have _plans_ the night before his own wedding.

Alec does not have any other plans for tonight, but that’s beside the point. Isabelle tried to plan a mundane “bachelor party,” but Alec refused that offer on principal. And thankfully so, since he now doesn’t have to make any excuses to anyone about where he is going.

 _You._ Magnus’ price echoes ominously through his mind. He spent the last few days asking himself over and over what it meant, as if he didn’t know. He knows. He can’t forget the way Magnus’ eyes drank him in that evening. No one has ever looked at Alec that way before—at least, not anyone who matters. Which Magnus doesn’t. He won Izzy’s case, and Alec owes him a debt. That’s all.

Alec takes a deep, steadying breath to quiet the anxious drumming of his heart. This is not how he ever expected to lose his virginity—not that he ever really had many expectations at all. He never had the luxury of dreaming about whirlwind romances or passionate, slow-burn love stories. If anything, he figured it would be secretive and awkward, a one-time fling with some other repressed, closeted Shadowhunter man. That is the way things are for gay Shadowhunters—they get married, they have kids, they pretend to be straight. And as of tomorrow, that will be Alec too.

So as far as first times go, at least this will make a good story. He tries not to think about it past that—it’s not like he’s _into_ Magnus that way. Not really.

Alec checks his clothes and hair one last time. He looks surprisingly good. He showered three times today, but still worries he somehow missed something, beholden to the tiny, quiet voice in the back of his mind that tells him he is undesirable, ugly, unlovable.

He pauses then, wondering why he cares at all. He has no reason to impress Magnus Bane. He should hate him for even offering such a deal in the first place.

Alec sheds his dress clothes in favor of an outfit that is far more comfortable and far less presentable. The jeans are worn and shredded in places, the hoodie threadbare, with holes near the seams. He looks like a vagrant. He musses up his hair. Maybe if he looks like garbage, Magnus won’t want to collect on his debt at all, and they can both just forget about this whole thing and pretend it never happened.

He turns to leave, only to pause again, unable to cross the threshold of his bedroom. With an angry huff, he stomps back over to the pile of discarded clothes on his bed, yanking his hoodie off and adding it to the disarray. His jeans follow soon after. He finally decides on a newer, nicer pair of jeans and a black button up shirt. He attempts to fix his hair, but he can’t, and he hates that he cares.

Realizing he is now running late, Alec barrels blindly into the hallway, only to almost collide with his sister. Izzy examines him curiously. “You look nice. Going out somewhere?”

“I have to go see Magnus,” Alec grumbles, before remembering that he’s keeping this evening’s activities a secret from her.

“Magnus?” she asks gleefully, one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?” Izzy has already made her opinion of Alec’s engagement painfully clear to him, and excitement sparkles in her eyes. Alec can almost see the explanations she is already manufacturing in her mind, an entire anthology of stories describing all the ways this could lead to him calling off the wedding.

 _Dream on, Iz._ Unlike her, Alec has responsibilities to bear. He is the eldest, and the future reputation of the entire family rests on his shoulders.

“Yes,” Alec gripes, falling back on the cover story that Magnus texted him. He assumes it was supposed to be a joke, but now he actually needs it, so a tiny part of him is thankful that Magnus thought to come up with one. “As payment for his help with your case, I promised him a favor. He’s decided he wants me to collect a few debts for him, to make a show of having a Shadowhunter at his beck and call.” Alec rolls his eyes, and that reaction, at least, is real.

Izzy frowns. “I didn’t think Magnus was that kind of person,” she muses.

“Whatever,” Alec snaps. His nerves are fraying. “It’s just a few hours.”

“You’re right.” Izzy remains thoughtful. “Best of luck, big brother. And… thank you. I’m sorry that you’re the one working off my mistakes.”

Alec’s expression softens. He brushes a long, raven-black tendril of hair from the front of his sister’s face. “That’s what big brothers are for,” he assures her gently. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.” She offers up a winning smile, and Alec smiles reassuringly back.

“Do you want company?” she asks. “I wouldn’t mind playing Magnus’ bitch for an evening too if you’d rather not go alone.”

Alec chokes, aghast she would choose that particular wording for his situation. “No,” he squeaks hastily, and flees out the door.

~

Magnus paces across his living room. Alexander Lightwood is now almost thirty minutes late, and Magnus is beginning to think he’s been stood up. Stood up for a blood oath—that would be new.

This is surprising to him for two reasons. Firstly, because he is actually fairly certain the blue-eyed nephilim reciprocates his interest, even if he’s never had the opportunity to admit it in front of his peers. And secondly, because Alexander owes him this evening, and the conscientious Shadowhunter does not seem like the type to skip out on his debts.

For Magnus, the first point is what this whole thing is really about. Though he loathes to admit it, he has very rapidly developed a soft spot for the Shadowhunter—a sincere interest that he has previously done his best to sabotage with gratuitous flirting and vulgar jokes. He’s being entirely selfish in this endeavor, but he just wants one single evening to spend some time with him without all of the other stress and pretense that is always swarming around them. He wants to get to know Alexander, and to convince himself that they’re not really compatible, so that he can allow him go off into his sham of a marriage in miserable, dutiful peace.

He refuses to acknowledge his disappointment that the aforementioned Shadowhunter apparently isn’t bothering to show up at all. At least his question is answered swiftly and neatly. Magnus would never continue to harbor interest in someone with such poor regard for basic decency.

Just as he is about to resign himself to cracking open his Bollinger alone, a tentative knock echoes against his door.

Magnus swings the door open with a haphazard flick of his wrist, composing himself swiftly into his trademark facade of carefree leisure, as if he has not even noticed the time. “Good evening, Alexander.”

“Hey.” Alec hesitates in the doorway. He seems to have actually put some effort into his appearance, even having somewhat tamed his usually wild mess of wavy black hair. Magnus stifles an annoyingly soft smile, eyes drifting over the crisply-ironed black button up and admiring the way it hugs Alec’s lean, muscular shoulders. Alec shifts uncomfortably when he catches Magnus leering, blushing and staring at the floor in a very endearing way.

“Well, come in,” Magnus says. “I don’t bite. At least not this early on.” He winks, but the joke doesn’t land. In fact, Alec looks a bit pale. _Not into biting, got it._ He makes a mental note. He inwardly kicks himself for falling back on the suggestive jokes again. Nervous habits die hard. The wary nephilim steps inside, glancing around as if he expects to be ambushed.

“Sorry I’m late,” Alec mumbles. “I ran into Izzy on the way out and she wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Ah, darling Isabelle,” Magnus responds. He uncorks the champagne, and Alec startles at the abrupt noise. Magnus pretends he doesn’t notice. He forces himself to keep a straight face as he sets up his next question—it’s just too easy. He can’t resist. “How is the most beautiful Lightwood sibling?”

“Surprisingly well, all things considered,” Alec answers.

“As is to be expected,” Magnus agrees. Then his lips curve into a devilish grin. “And how is Isabelle?” He holds out a bubbling glass to his guest.

Alec stutters, eyes wide. “She—uh—I… I didn’t—” His cheeks flush red, and Magnus laughs.

“So bashful, Alexander. Has no one ever called you beautiful before? Besides me, of course.” He remembers Alec’s reaction when he called him ‘ _pretty boy’_ —the dumbfounded look on his face as he was singled out over his conventionally gorgeous _parabatai_.

Alec snaps his mouth shut, giving up on forming an answer, and shakes his head. Then he directs his attention on the champagne, as if it might save him from the conversation.

“That’s a shame,” Magnus says. “You are.”

“Thanks,” Alec mumbles, staring at the bubbles in his glass. He seems at once pleased and embarrassed—completely at a loss for words. Sensing that Alec needs a rescue, Chairman Meow pads silently into the room, weaving around Alec's legs and bumping against him. Alec smiles, regarding the cat with a warm fondness that Magnus is definitely not at all jealous of. Magnus clears his throat, realizing that this evening is going to be more challenging than he originally thought.

“So,” he says. “How do you feel about Ethiopian food?”

Alec’s eyes light up. “I love it!” Then he bites his lip, and Magnus has to resist the temptation to reach up and run his thumb across it.

He mentally scolds himself. _Leave the poor man alone. He’s getting married tomorrow. The last thing he needs is you making a legitimate pass at him._

“Actually,” the nephilim amends, “I’ve never tried _kitfo_. Hodge always refused to order it. So I can’t say if I like that or not. But pretty much everything else.”

Magnus smirks, doing his very best to hold back all of the jokes that prance through his thoughts. _Behave!_ “So are you saying you would like to order _kitfo,_ then?”

Alec hesitates as if he’s genuinely considering it, then shakes his head. He’s clearly still nervous, channeling his anxiety into babble. “I’d rather go with whatever you have planned. I mean, if that’s what you were going to order, that’s fine. I’ve always been curious about trying raw meat.” He stops abruptly, as if he only just realized the potential connotation of his words, and his cheeks are even redder than they were before.

Magnus stifles a grin, willing himself not to comment on it, and loses the battle. “How very adventurous.” Alec chokes on a sip of his champagne.

In an act of monumental generosity, Magnus decides to rescue the Shadowhunter from further discomfort, and summons the food he had ordered from where it currently waits on a local restaurant’s pickup counter. Alec regards it suspiciously.

“Did you steal this?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” Magnus shoots back.

“Yes,” Alec answers.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “You’re a tough date,” he jokes. Alec does not seem to find this statement amusing, and Magnus gives in with a hefty sigh. “No,” he drawls. “I did not steal this food.”

Alec relaxes, only marginally. “In that case, let me know how much I owe you.” He follows Magnus’ lead and seats himself at the table, helping him unpack everything from the stapled paper bags it arrived in.

“Owe me?” Magnus scoffs. “Don’t insult me, Alexander. You’re my guest. It’s my treat.”

“Are you sure?” Alec asks, as if he can’t possibly fathom anyone wanting to treat him to dinner.

“Never trust a stingy warlock,” Magnus quips.

That, finally, draws a smile from the somber Shadowhunter—proving that Alexander’s affection isn't solely directed at Magnus' cat. “Okay,” Alec answers, ripping off a piece of _injera_ flatbread and digging in as the conversation slides into a more comfortable discussion on a recent Clave ruling—leave it to Alexander Lightwood to fall back on work-related topics.

It takes only a few minutes, however, for the awkwardness to return, when Magnus’ hand bumps into his over one of their many shared dishes. Alec startles, and Magnus shoots him a surprised look. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” the nephilim assures him, his anxious expression returning. “Sorry.”

Alec remains tense after that, until Magnus launches into a story about the time he dropped acid with Salvador Dalí. The entire thing is a complete lie, but Alec doesn’t need to know that. He gets a real laugh out of him from it, and the brilliant, genuine happiness he sees in the nephilim’s eyes cuts right through him, swirling warmly in his chest and inspiring him to generously embellish more and more until they’re both out of breath from cackling.

Long after the food is gone, they wind up on the sofa. Magnus is doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes at Alec’s description of the first time he caught Isabelle smoking pot on the Institute roof. He’s so dry and deadpan about it, but somehow that just makes it funnier, and then Alec is grinning and it’s so beautiful and Magnus has to briefly lean on his shoulder to catch his breath or else he thinks he might fall over.

It happens again, then. Alec’s entire body tensing, as if he just remembers something important, and Magnus pulls away. “Alexander,” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Alec says hastily, and Magnus knows it’s a lie.

Finally, Magnus picks up both of their empty glasses and carries them to the kitchen. “Maybe you should go,” he suggests. “You’ve already been here awhile. I’m sure your fellow Shadowhunters are missing you. It’s a big day tomorrow, after all.” He doesn’t want him to go. But even more than that, he doesn’t want to force him to stay.

Alec hesitates, standing and following Magnus part way to the kitchen. “Go? Are… are you sure?” He seems confused, and Magnus gets the distinct feeling he is missing something important.

“Yes?” he answers, though it comes out like a question. He decides, then, that to avoid further awkwardness, honesty is the best policy. “Listen, Alexander. I’ve had a lovely evening. And I thought maybe you were having a good time as well. But clearly there’s something wrong, and I’m not going to force you to stay here if you don’t want to be.”

Alec raises an eyebrow, his confusion now only more pronounced. “So… we’re not… I mean… ” He trails off, his hand waving vaguely, connecting some unseen dots that Magnus is completely oblivious of. Magnus stares at him curiously, trying to piece together whatever puzzle pieces Alec is clearly struggling with. Finally, the nephilim nods, and his shoulders relax. Or do they sag? It’s difficult to say. “Okay,” he sighs. “Um… thank you. I did actually have a good time.”

Magnus watches him carefully, an inkling of understanding leaking into his thoughts as he repeats the Shadowhunter’s unsure words in his mind. “Alexander,” he calls, just as he turns to leave. Alec turns back toward him, and stops short at the narrow-eyed expression on his face.

“Yes?” Alec asks weakly.

“What did you think was going to happen tonight?” 

Alec blushes deeply, and it’s all the answer Magnus needs. Of course Alec arrived looking like a cornered animal. Of course he startled at every soft moment or casual touch. He thought it was all some elaborate ploy—some pretense to get him into Magnus’ bed. Alec thought that Magnus expected sex as payment for winning Isabelle's trial.

He sets his jaw, baffled at the surge of anger that heats his veins “Get out,” he says quietly. Alec takes a step back toward him, but Magnus slams open the door with a tempestuous wave of his wrist. “Get out!” he exclaims as the edge of the door clatters against the wall. Alec does not jump this time, only watches him with wide, regretful eyes, then turns to leave.

Magnus furiously waves a hand around his head, and all around him the apartment is tidied, leftovers packaging themselves neatly into the fridge, dishes scrubbing themselves clean and blinking into the cabinets as he storms back into the living room. Behind him, the footsteps pause, and he hears Alec spin around. He turns on him, intending to frighten him off with some mighty display of magic, but is surprised to be met with an equally angry glare.

“That’s not fair, Magnus,” Alec declares. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ being ridiculous?” Magnus retorts. “You thought I was asking you to whore yourself out to me in exchange for your sister’s life, Alec.” Alec flinches away when Magnus spits out his name.

“You said… ” Alec trails off, his cheeks hot. Magnus raises an expectant eyebrow. Under the warlock’s judging gaze, Alec stubbornly presses forward. “You made that comment—said you’d ‘do me _pro bono_.’ And you were being vague, and kept making these jokes… I thought…”

“Thought what, _Alec_?” Magnus relishes the newfound power he finds in using Alec’s shortened name, how it seems to bother the Shadowhunter more than anything else he says. “That I was the kind of person who would use your sister’s life to force you into bed with me?”

“No—” Alec starts, but Magnus cuts him off.

“Am I just soulless, immoral demon spawn to you?” he snaps.

“Damnit, Magnus, no!” Alec shouts, and that shuts Magnus up very quickly, because he has never heard Alec raise his voice before.

“What?” he asks, thoroughly confused, but making a valiant effort to maintain his anger.

Alec cracks his knuckles—clearly a nervous habit—and dumps a barrage of words onto Magnus almost as if he thinks he might chicken out if he doesn’t spill them quickly enough.

“I thought—I thought you knew. That you saw the way I looked at you, and you were giving me an excuse. To see you. And… ” He shakes his head, cheeks aflame. “I don’t know, Magnus. I thought you liked me, I guess. And I was just so nervous. I didn’t know what you expected of me, or how to act, because I’ve never done anything like this before. Not even the little things. And I guess I was just looking for some reason, any at all, not to go through with it tomorrow. And instead I’ve made a complete fool of myself. So I’m sorry. And I’ll go now.”

With that, Alec spins on his heel and marches toward the door. Magnus commands himself to keep his mouth shut and let the nephilim leave. He’s never been very good at following instructions.

“Wait,” he calls out, and Alec stops, still facing the door. Magnus wants to say something smooth and clever, like he always does. Instead, he asks the first question that comes to his mind. “So… you came over tonight thinking I was going to try to _seduce_ you into not getting married tomorrow?”

Alec turns back toward him then, shrugging. “I guess? That’s kind of what it seemed like you were implying.”

Magnus laughs, and Alec blushes. “That’s absurd, Alexander. Even I’m not _that_ brazen. Well, actually, I’ve probably done worse. But not in this particular instance.” The Shadowhunter’s eyes light up then, when Magnus says his name, and Magnus hates how much it warms his heart to see.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says. “I completely misread the situation. I’ve been an ass.”

“No,” Magnus sighs. “I’ve been stringing you along. Keeping things deliberately vague. It was manipulative and rude. I’m sorry for confusing you. But I also hope you know that I would _never_ make a deal like that. It's abhorrent.”

"You're right. I never thought of it that way, though." Silence hangs between them, not uncomfortably. Suddenly Alec smirks, a lopsided grin that Magnus can’t help but get lost in. Magnus considers his wildly emotional reaction only minutes before, and his desperation to prove to himself that Alexander Lightwood is completely wrong for him—and it all clicks terrifyingly into place. _Fuck,_ he realizes. _I’m in so over my head._

“It would have been quite the story,” Alec adds. “Jace and Izzy would _never_ believe that’s how my first time finally happened.”

Magnus blinks at him, all of his musings skidding to a halt, completely caught off guard by the admission. “You’re a virgin?”

Now Alec is blushing again, and Magnus feels a bit badly for sounding so scandalized. “I am,” Alec admits sheepishly. “I’ve never really done much of anything, actually.”

~

“You’ve… never even been kissed?” Magnus’ bafflement is obvious, and Alec is sure by the heat of his skin that he must be beet red. He regrets admitting it, but he’s not going to lie now. That would only dig him even deeper into the pit of humiliation he has been gradually excavating for himself all night. All he wants now is to die on the spot so he can bury himself in it and never have to face Magnus Bane again.

“Uh, yeah.”

Magnus stares at him with what Alec could only describe as a sense of wonder, and it drives him to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “You’ve never even kissed a guy before—anyone at all—and yet you walked in here tonight expecting to lose your virginity?”

Alec’s blush runs hotter. “When you say it like that, it really emphasizes what an idiot I am.”

“Actually,” Magnus grins, “I was going to call you audacious. And I don’t use words like that very often.”

“Audacious?” Alec’s throat is dry. He isn’t sure if it’s a compliment or an insult. He swallows, trying to push his heart down from where it has recently taken up residence in his trachea.

Magnus cocks his hip out to the side, leaning it against the sofa as he counts off words on his fingers, one amused eyebrow raised. “Bold. Daring. Heroic, even.” He pauses when Alec’s eyes drop self-consciously to the floor. “Come here.”

The nephilim looks up in surprise. Magnus has one hand held high, crooking his index finger to beckon him. The warlock is cool and confident, almost bored, as if the idea doesn’t even occur to him that Alec might not obey.

Alec does obey, his feet carrying him hesitantly closer. Before he can fully register what is happening, Magnus balls a fist on the front of Alec’s shirt and tugs him the rest of the way. Alec almost stumbles over himself, and then Magnus’ lips are on his.

Magnus’ lips are soft and taste like floral lip balm, his movements are gentle and deliberate. Alec’s breath catches in his chest, his toes and fingers tingling. He stands up straighter, angling his head up so Magnus doesn’t have to hunch over, and then presses his body almost instinctively into the warlock’s, deepening the kiss. He gasps when their chests and hips connect. 

Surprised, Magnus tenses at Alec’s initiative, then Alec feels him relax and smile against his lips, and the warlock’s hands settle on the small of Alec’s back, encompassing Alec warmly d within his arms. The simple touch traces fire across Alec’s body. He wonders if Magnus is using some kind of magic, or if this is just what it feels like to finally touch someone after wanting them so badly for so long.

When Magnus pulls away, Alec’s heart is racing and his breath is shallow. His lips chase Magnus’ mouth, but are stopped by a gentle, feather-light finger pressed against them. “Now you’ve been kissed,” he murmurs, his eyes falling to examine every detail of Alec’s mouth where it meets his fingertip.

Alec tries to speak but can’t, lost in the depth of Magnus’ eyes, captured by the intensity with which the warlock stares into his own. There are so many things he wants— _needs_ —to say. His lips move silently, brushing against the warlock’s fingertip. Magnus’ eyelids flutter shut at the sensation of it, and he takes a deep, steadying breath.

“You should go,” Magnus finally whispers. “Before I decide to try to hold you to that deal you thought we made.” Alec flinches, but when Magnus’ eyes open there is no more anger there, or spite. Fully blown pupils dominate his umber irises, darkening them to almost black.

The quiet threat sparks a desperate heat in Alec’s core. He finally finds his voice, and the huskiness of it is unfamiliar to him. “What if I want you to?”

Magnus watches him, unmoving, and Alec worries he has overstepped, consciously controlling his breath so he doesn’t hyperventilate. He knows how desperate he sounds, but all he can think about is all of the places where their bodies are still touching, the energy that radiates like electricity from each over-sensitive point of contact. He is completely lost, craving more of it. Alec decides that if he’s going to embarrass himself, he might as well go all in. Hands trembling, he traces his fingers up Magnus’ chest, then laces them together around the back of his neck. Tilting his head back, he pauses just before brushing his lips against Magnus’ once more—terrified the warlock might push him away—and hovers right there, painfully close to kissing him.

Magnus slides his grip to Alec’s hips, tightening to the point where Alec wonders if he will develop little fingertip-shaped bruises. He hopes he does. “Alexander,” Magnus growls, “You really shouldn’t say such things.”

“Why not?” Alec whispers. He can feel the heat of his own breath curling back toward him, trapped in the millimeters between his face and Magnus’. Millimeters that Magnus rapidly closes.

This kiss is not soft, nor gentle. Magnus claims Alec’s mouth roughly, and Alec cannot do anything but fail to stifle the needy whimper that escapes his throat. He finds himself pressed against the back of the sofa, and then he is resting his weight on it, legs parting so Magnus can grind against him. The friction between them does things to Alec.

For a moment he is embarrassed by the sudden tightness of his pants, only to realize that Magnus is in the same state, and that fact only further fuels Alec’s arousal. He uses his calves to pull the warlock more firmly against him. Magnus moans, and the sound of it tugs at a loose thread somewhere deep in Alec’s core, unraveling him completely. He breaks their kiss only to bring his lips to Magnus’ jaw, traveling to his neck.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Magnus breathes. His fingers stumble over the buttons on Alec’s shirt, and Alec doesn’t even have the presence of mind to feel self-conscious as his chest is bared. Instead, something akin to satisfied pride warms his veins when Magnus leans back to take a look at him, eyes following the silvery scars of old marks downward until they settle on Alec’s abs. “ _Fuck,_ ” Magnus repeats, and this time it sounds like admiration. Alec blushes.

“Is that a good _‘fuck’_ or a bad one?” Alec asks, his thoughts finally clearing enough to regain some of his earlier self-doubt.

Magnus winks. “There’s no such thing as a bad fuck when I’m involved.” Alec bites his lip. He realizes he is flexing a little bit, trying to show off for him, and he thinks Magnus notices because he’s smirking again.

“Come to my bedroom,” Magnus orders, then turns away toward a closed door on the other side of the room, not even checking to see if Alec follows. The warlock’s commanding tone shivers through Alec’s body and goes straight to his groin.

_By the Angel, what am I doing?_

Alec does follow, his heart racing.

~

Magnus must be losing his mind. That is the only explanation he has for what he’s doing right now. He wonders if the nephilim is going to follow him or think better of it and flee, but Alec’s newfound fearless streak holds true, and when Magnus turns around they are both standing in his bedroom. The door closes behind them with flick of Magnus’ wrist, ensuring minimal interference from The Chairman. The last thing he wants is his cat in the mix—while Chairman Meow’s curious wanderings have proven to be great comic relief during occasional inebriated one night stands, Magnus does not think that this moment would benefit from such an intrusion.

He is still fully dressed—a fact that he realizes clearly makes Alec uncomfortable—so he decides on the obvious remedy to this predicament. One which he thinks the Shadowhunter will enjoy very much.

“Undress me,” he purrs. He reaches for the other man’s wrists, pulling him in closer, directing him silently to begin with his jacket.

Alexander, it turns out, is very good at taking orders. He slides Magnus’ jacket off over his shoulders, then turns his attention to the buttons of Magnus’ shirt, pausing only to lean up and catch the warlock in another kiss.

 _Gods, what am I doing?_ Magnus asks himself. _A Shadowhunter? That’s it—I’ve finally lost my mind._ He resigns himself to this new diagnosis very quickly when said Shadowhunter finishes unbuttoning his shirt and immediately moves on to kissing his chest, because _fucking hell_ he’s so hot, and even though Magnus has turned down many advances from many certified dreamboats, for some mysterious reason he can’t seem to pull himself away. Instead, he weaves his fingers through the mess of Alec’s sable hair, moaning when the nephilim drops to his knees and kisses the spot where Magnus’ belly button should be before starting on the unnecessary number of buttons of Magnus’ pants.

Magnus has to admit—there’s something incredibly thrilling about having a Shadowhunter kneeling in front of him like this, following his every command with such fervor.

An image flashes through Magnus’ mind of Alec’s mouth around his cock, and his breath catches at how unbelievably beautiful it is. He’s so, so tempted to tell him to do it, and he’s almost certain Alec would obey. The thought turns him on even more. _Fuck, I’m such a mess._

Alec finishes with the buttons on Magnus’ pants, which Magnus is actually somewhat impressed with, because they are now very, very, tight. He steps out of them when his blue-eyed nephilim tugs them downward and stands in his underwear in front of Alec, who is still kneeling on the floor, staring up at him in awe like he is some kind of god. Magnus clears his throat, realizing he is gawking and trying to cover for his complete loss of words.

“You’re—” Alec stammers quietly, and for the briefest of seconds Magnus feels a very uncharacteristic flash of self-consciousness that he swiftly brushes away. “… gorgeous,” the nephilim finishes.

“I know,” Magnus grins, and Alec tilts his head to the side a bit, as if he can see right through his cocky, over-confident facade.

 _It’s not a facade,_ Magnus tells himself. _What do you know, nephilim?_ And then he realizes he is only arguing with his own thoughts. He strides toward the Shadowhunter and pulls him up by his elbows, crashing their mouths together as if that might silence the war waging inside of him— and it does. When Magnus nibbles at his neck and brushes his fingers across the waistband of his jeans, Alec moans, then grinds his hips forward at the teasing, his own exploring hands now completely ruining Magnus’ carefully-styled hair. For some reason this sparks an unbearable rush of impatience in Magnus, so he yanks the button of Alec’s jeans open and shoves him backwards onto the bed. Alec gasps, but lands gently on his elbows and lifts his hips to help Magnus pull his pants off the remainder of the way.

“Graceful,” Magnus laughs, finding himself on top of him. He is hyper-aware of their bare skin connecting, and the soft barrier of their underwear between them. Alec’s skin is ridged where the old rune scars have faded, and it makes Magnus’ heart hurt.

“Shadowhunter,” Alec grins. And there it is again, that feeling in Magnus’ chest, like some hidden, unknown part of him is innately connected to Alexander Lightwood’s happiness, and somehow all it takes is a single smile for Magnus to feel complete. He pulls back suddenly, his limbs caging Alec in, and studies him. Alec picks up on his hesitance and drops his hands from where they were wandering across Magnus’ ribs. Concern flashes across his face. “Is everything okay? We can stop, if you’re uncomfortable.”

Magnus laughs at that. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” Then his tone grows more serious, the reason for his pause spilling forth. “Alexander, I don’t want you to do this because you feel like you have to, or as some panicked, last-minute final hurrah before a marriage that you know will make you miserable for the rest of your life.” 

Alec looks away at that, his azure gaze turning to the walls, the ceiling, anywhere but at Magnus. Magnus presses forward, knowing that this needs to be said, that if he doesn’t get these words out, he’ll end up miserable. He traces softly along Alec’s jaw with one fingertip.

“If we do this now, it’s not because you made some deal with me, or because you wanted to get it out of your system before disappearing back into the closet forever. This is only happening if it’s because you really, genuinely want it to.” His tone has gotten a bit stern, almost scolding. He lets it. If Alec can’t handle a little honesty, he shouldn’t be in bed with him right now.

When Alec’s eyes return to his, Magnus is surprised by the fire there. He never realized blue could look so warm. Alec’s hands are on his body again, tracing along his hip bone, and Magnus can’t quite stifle the desperate noise it provokes from him, which the nephilim clearly takes a liking to.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander murmurs, and for a moment Magnus’ entire body freezes up, because deep in his heart he really believed that Alec wanted him. But then Alec continues, drawing his fingertips across Magnus’ cheekbone, and Magnus can only stare, wide-eyed, as the Shadowhunter destroys any will that Magnus has left to resist him. “I’m so sorry. I was afraid. I understand now—maybe not entirely, and maybe I never will—but… I want you. I’ve been telling myself I don’t, coming up with all kinds of excuses, but I _do_ , Magnus. I want you. And I can’t get married knowing that. No matter what we do or don’t do tonight.”

Alec’s last word devolves into a gasp, and then a beautiful, desperate moan, because the last remaining bits of their clothing are gone, and Magnus thinks that maybe he accidentally incinerated them rather than teleporting them away, but he doesn’t care. Because right now Alexander Lightwood is naked beneath him, and he’s rubbing against him, and he _wants_ him. All Magnus desires is to taste him and to touch him and witness the beautiful face he makes when he comes.

His glamour melts away and he allows it to, one last ditch effort to put a stop to this insane decision, one last opportunity for Alec to come to his senses and flee.

~

Alec isn’t sure what exactly he said to elicit such a reaction—he was only honest—but he is very, very happy with the result. He also doesn’t know what Magnus did with his underwear, but before he can contemplate the mystery much further, the entirety of his attention is redirected to Magnus’ hand wrapping around his dick. A primal sound rips from his throat, every part of his body and mind on edge, completely incapable of focusing on anything else but that feeling, and the heat between them as they roll their hips against each other.

But then something else _does_ steal his attention—Magnus Bane’s eyes. They aren’t brown anymore, but golden, with narrow slitted pupils like a cat’s. They remind Alec of the immense power that sleeps just beneath the surface of the warlock’s skin, within every fingertip that is currently wrapped around Alec’s dick. 

Maybe it’s just another symptom of what Alec is growing increasingly sure might be complete and utter insanity, but it turns him on. With Magnus Bane’s warlock mark fully on display, Alec finds him to be irresistibly, unbearably, almost painfully sexy.

“Tell me what you want,” Alec hears himself begging, his voice strained and barely controlled as he fucks into Magnus’ fist. “Please— _please_ —Magnus. I’ll do it. Anything. I want to.” He doesn’t know what he’s promising, but he doesn’t care. He wants to make Magnus feel the way Alec feels—completely destroyed, unraveling, a little unhinged.

Magnus buries his face in Alec’s neck, groaning, the rhythm of his hand on Alec’s dick faltering. “Oh, Alexander,” Magnus breathes. “You are developing a very dangerous habit of making open-ended promises to me.” His words dance hotly across the skin of Alec’s collarbone, and Magnus follows them with his lips and teeth.

“It usually seems to work out well enough,” Alec gasps. Magnus laughs at that, removing himself from Alec and sitting back, and while Alec misses his closeness, he forces himself to wait patiently. He is incredibly aware of the compromising nature of their position, Magnus kneeling between his legs, both of them hard and already a little bit sweaty. He can’t take his eyes off of Magnus’ body, his abs, his cock. Alec’s own dick twitches in response to an unbidden flash through Alec’s mind—an image of Magnus rutting into him—and Alec has to close his eyes to push it away as his breath hitches.

When Alec opens his eyes again, Magnus almost seems cautious, studying him like he did before they fully disrobed. Alec pushes himself upright and kisses Magnus just below his sternum, and takes Magnus’ dick into his own hand the way Magnus had done for him. Magnus releases a breath, as if he had been holding it for awhile, and combs a hand through Alec’s hair. Alec craves that feeling—the touching and caressing—and it ceases too soon.

Magnus’ chest rumbles against Alec’s lips when he speaks. “What would you say if I told you to get on your knees, on the floor?”

Alec’s stomach flip-flops, heat rushing every part of him. He removes himself from Magnus with what he worries might be a little bit too much enthusiasm and drops to the floor, licking his lips as he watches Magnus hopefully, waiting for further instructions. Any embarrassment he has about his excess of excitement flies out the window when he sees Magnus’ reaction, how Magnus almost seems unsteady on his feet when he stands, his pupils blown and wanting as he positions himself in front of Alec.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Magnus whispers. He reaches up to wind his hand once again through Alec’s hair, and Alec notices the warlock’s fingers are shaking. Could he really be the cause of that? He wants to be. He needs to be.

He doesn’t need Magnus to tell him what to do at this point. The warlock’s dick is right there in front of him, so he licks it, drawing his tongue from the base to the tip, then back down again, holding it steady with one hand. Magnus whimpers, just barely audibly, and it’s the most beautiful sound Alec has ever heard. He wants to hear it again. He stares up at Magnus, catching his eyes—gold and luminous and so, _so_ sexy—and wraps his lips around the warlock’s cock.

Maybe Alec is depraved. He doesn’t care. He is shamelessly hot for the way Magnus yanks at his hair and fucks into his mouth, like the warlock is trying his best to hold still as Alec sucks on him but just _can’t_. It has Alec reaching for his own dick, stroking himself as he tries to hollow his cheeks the way he read in one of Izzy’s romance novels—which he will adamantly deny having ever seen at all if asked about. It has the desired effect, though it leads to him gagging when Magnus’ hips jerk forward and he pushes a little too far into Alec’s throat. He moans, the sound heavily muffled by Magnus’ dick in his mouth.

“Alexander, I’m going to come,” Magnus manages while struggling to catch his breath.

Alec’s head bobs with renewed energy. Magnus moans when Alec’s tongue flicks over his tip, and then his hips are shaking, and Alec’s mouth fills with the taste of him, warm and salty.

“Gods,” Magnus murmurs, barely a whisper. When Alec swallows, so does he, his eyes following every movement as Alec licks his lips. He releases his grip on Alec’s hair to slide a finger under his jaw, wiping away an escaped bead of his own come from Alec’s chin, then tilting his head upward and bending down to kiss him. Alec sighs into the kiss, tracing his tongue along Magnus’ bottom lip, and Magnus opens up to him. Then Magnus is on his knees too, and Alec adores how he still has to lean his head upward to meet the kiss. “What do _you_ want?” Magnus asks, his voice heavy and husky.

Alec doesn’t need even a second to know the answer. “Fuck me?” he breathes. “Please?” Then his brain catches up with his words, and the self-conscious babble begins, his eyes darting downward. “I mean, in a minute or two, obviously. Once you’ve had a second. Or if you don’t want to—”

He is cut off by Magnus’ lips on his, the warlock pressing his weight into him so he sinks back onto the floor. “Don’t insult me, Alexander,” Magnus grins against him. “Seeing you like this—you already look so thoroughly debauched, darling. I’m already getting hard again.” He pauses then, hovering above Alec, much as they were earlier on the bed. “Are you sure _you_ want to do this?” he asks again.

“Yes,” Alec answers, and that is all Magnus needs. Alec hears the sound of a bottle popping open in Magnus’ hand, and then an explorative finger, cool and slick, circling his entrance. He whimpers, pressing himself against the sensation of it, so aroused it’s almost painful, and catches Magnus’ mouth against his. When that single finger presses into him, he jerks his hips and moans, and Magnus moans with him.

Everything feels tight and tense and a bit painful, and Alec wants _more_ , and then Magnus turns his hand and he’s pressing against his prostate and suddenly Alec feels like he’s about to come. It came on so quickly, and he gasps, jerking, worried about finishing far too soon.

Magnus smirks into the spot where he was kissing Alec’s shoulder. “Found it,” he breathes smugly.

“It’s too much,” Alec mumbles into his hair. “I’m gonna come.”

“Not just yet, angel,” Magnus breathes. “You won’t.” He adds a second finger and Alec feels like he’s being stretched to his limit, and it feels so, so good. It takes Alec a minute or so to adjust to the sensation of Magnus massaging his prostate, and realize he isn’t about to prematurely come all over Magnus’ abs after all. He relaxes into the pleasure, and before he knows it a third finger presses into him, and he’s rolling his hips with the rhythm Magnus sets and then Magnus is pulling back, and Alec feels empty and wanting.

There’s an amused gleam in Magnus’ chartreuse eyes as he slides a palmful of lube over his dick, thrusting into his own hand. “Would you like to move up to the bed?” he asks.

Alec shakes his head, unsure if he’s able to speak at all, let alone stand. Maybe one day he’ll look back and find regret in the memory of losing his virginity on Magnus Bane’s floor, but right now he wants Magnus badly, and the bed—right next to them—is just too far away. Magnus grins a devilish Cheshire grin, and then he kisses his way up Alec’s abs, drawing his tongue over a nipple, nibbling his way to Alec’s neck, and then there is a delicious pressure against Alec’s entrance and he arches his back and cries out as the head of Magnus dick pushes past his rim.

Magnus’ breathing is labored too, panting in short bursts against Alec’s ear until he is finally fully sheathed inside of him, and Alec feels so full, like he might burst at the seams. Alec kisses along Magnus’ ear, tracing one ear cuff with his tongue as Magnus carefully rolls his hips. His fingernails drag down the smooth skin on Magnus’ back, and Magnus bucks into him at the sudden pain.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alec says. His legs try to jerk closed at the burn of it, but Magnus’ hips are in between them holding them open, and he hooks his ankles around behind Magnus’ knees instead.

Alec gives up as Magnus falls into a languid, lazy rhythm, unable to process anything but the incredible stretch of Magnus inside of him.

The tightness of Alec’s balls builds again, and this time it’s not just from the new, unfamiliar sensations emanating from his prostate. Magnus seems to know he’s close—maybe he hears the change in Alec’s breathing, or feels the new, frantic desperation of Alec’s hands wandering over him, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The warlock leans his weight on one elbow, using one hand to jerk Alec off as he ruts into him.

“Come for me,” Magnus says, his voice unsteady between thrusts. Alec groans, letting his head fall back against the rug, and Magnus fucks him harder. He wants nothing more than to obey, to do anything and everything Magnus asks of him. _Especially_ this.

Too many sensations are curling and building up inside of him. He squirms under Magnus’ weight, as if he might be able to flee away from the tension coiling in his core. Magnus’ hips slam against his, and his grip on Alec’s dick is firm and insistent. “ _Now_ , Alexander,” Magnus demands breathlessly. “I won’t ask again.”

He leans down and meets Alec in a rough kiss, his pace now wild and frenzied, and then he bites down on Alec’s bottom lip, and Alec’s balls draw up and it feels like his whole body is tensing and stretching.

“Oh, fuck, Magnus,” Alec gasps, running the syllables together under his breath like one long word. He can’t do anything but cling to his warlock and ride out the waves of shivering pleasure, the warm wetness of his own come pooling on his abs.

Just as Alec thinks it’s over, Magnus grabs one of his legs behind the knee and hitches it up over his shoulder, pounding into him harder, and Alec doesn’t recognize the filthy sound that comes from his own mouth as Magnus buries himself roughly into Alec’s ass and rides out his own orgasm with a guttural moan.

~

Magnus collapses on the floor beside Alec, their sweaty skin sticking them together everywhere they touch.

“I hope you don’t have a mission tomorrow,” Magnus grins between breaths, “because you’re going to be _very_ sore.”

Alec laughs—a deep hearty one that lights up Magnus’ world. He’s never seen him this happy before, so relaxed. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny until Alec reminds him of the obvious. “I was supposed to be having a _wedding_ tomorrow.”

“Right.” Magnus stares up at the ceiling, wondering if the Clave can come after him for corrupting one of their most valuable up and coming Shadowhunters. He wouldn’t put it past them to pin Alec’s entire sexuality on him, to claim he turned Alec gay with some sort of secret sex curse and then lock him away in the Gard, or even the Silent City.

“Magnus,” Alec reaches over a presses a gentle finger on Magnus’ jaw, turning Magnus’ face back toward him. His expression is honest, and open, and way too pure for someone who just got so debaucherously fucked into the floorboards. “I’m not going to do it. I’m not getting married. I meant it.”

Magnus slips into one of his trademark grins. “Ever? Come now, Alexander, what did I say about making big, open-ended promises to me?”

“Stop doing that,” Alec demands, all too serious.

“Doing what?” Magnus asks innocently.

“Brushing everything off, like you don’t care.” Alec rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows so that for once, Magnus has to look up at him. “I know you care, Magnus. You’ve been telling me that you do over and over, and I’ve been an ass about it. Now I’m telling you that _I_ care. I’m not getting married tomorrow.”

Magnus nods, suitably taken aback. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say to that, Alexander. Are you expecting a thank you or something?”

Alec laughs again. “Don’t be ridiculous, Magnus. I’m trying to ask you out on a date, if you’ll have me.”

Magnus contemplates how strange it is to be asked out on a first date while sprawled naked on the floor of his own loft, covered in semen and sweat. “I think I’ve already had you,” he remarks thoughtfully. Alec rolls his eyes and drops his face onto his elbows with a huff.

“Fine,” the nephilim groans. “Be that way. I know I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” Magnus sighs. He rolls onto his side to face Alec, who peers at him over his arm with one striking blue eye. “I just haven’t really done this in awhile.”

Alec nods, then starts to push himself up. “I get it, Magnus. You don’t have to explain yourself.” Magnus reaches out with one hand and grabs Alec’s bicep, which is hard and strong, and he finds himself a little weaker in the knees than he was already.

“I wasn’t finished.”

Alec cocks an eyebrow at that, lowering himself back to the floor. “I’m pretty sure you finished twice.”

Magnus snorts. “Here I am trying to plan a date with you, and all you can talk about is sex. Typical toxic masculinity.”

He has never seen someone so overjoyed to be insulted. Alec’s brilliant smile is infectious, and Magnus finds himself smiling back. “Alright,” he finally says. “As fun as it is to lie around on the floor all day, we both need a shower.”

“Both?” Alec asks hopefully.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Yes, angel. The shower is big enough for two. But first… ” Magnus pushes himself up, and stifles a grin at the grunt of admiration from his Shadowhunter as he walks away. He strolls over to his desk, and the small black book resting atop of it. Soon Alec is by his side, watching curiously as Magnus flips through to the page bearing his name scrawled across the top in vivid red ink. It has one entry, written in messy crimson cursive— _one evening_ . He fishes a standard black pen from the desk drawer, then in a flowery script adds an addendum underneath: _Paid in Full_. When Magnus looks back up, Alec is smirking.

“What?” Magnus questions. “I pride myself in my scrupulous record keeping.”

“Where’s your red pen?” Alec asks innocently. Magnus is immediately suspicious, but he retrieves it from the drawer and hands it over. Alec reaches around him and snatches the book from beneath Magnus’ fingers.

“Hey!” Magnus exclaims, but Alec hides the book stubbornly behind his back and out of reach.

“Don’t you trust me?” Alec taunts. “Come on, I promise not to ruin your meticulous transaction history.”

“I do not trust you,” Magnus answers crossly, folding his arms in front of him. But he allows Alec to flatten the book gingerly on the desk and write something out on a new line of his page. When he peeks over his nephilim’s shoulder, he can’t help but grin. “Okay, fine. That one’s fair.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Alec says, standing on his toes to steal one more kiss. “Now what did you say about that shower?” Magnus wastes no time taking his hand and leading him back to the master ensuite for what he is sure will rapidly devolve into round two.

Splayed open on the desk, Alexander Lightwood’s latest debt to him is written in the nephilim’s own clumsy handwriting— _one first date_ , scrawled across the page in striking red ink.


End file.
